


Hotel Rooms/Temporary Feelings

by makeupourminds



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeupourminds/pseuds/makeupourminds
Summary: The singed corners of a photo don’t seem an ample comparison to the destructive despair that’s been hollowing out his chest cavity since Derry, though he thinks, rather pessimistically, that maybe nothing ever occupied that space to begin with.That wouldn’t be fair to Eddie though. He’s always had a home in the space between Richie’s ribs, whether either of them were ever fully aware of it or not.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 7





	Hotel Rooms/Temporary Feelings

3:32 A.M

The clock on the nightstand beside the too-big hotel bed taunts him, deep red numbers blinking back at him with cruel laughter. Thin sheets scratch against rough skin with no concern for gentleness, no intent to cradle the grown man crumbling in their midst. He feels the humming in his bone marrow, the gentle serenade of the radio on the clock so desperately attempting to aid his fruitless venture to rest. His eyes don’t stray from the numbers that seem to bleed and melt from their hazy frame, flashing the spiderwebbed shape of cracked lenses tainted with a liquid the same hue. He squeezes his eyes shut at the image his mind draws forth, however brief.

3:34 A.M

He turns away from the blurry numbers that mock him, stitching together a mostly incoherent thought about time and it’s inherent callous persistence, the unforgiving slow crawl that doesn’t stop even when the world is burned and frayed at its edges. The singed corners of a photo don’t seem an ample comparison to the destructive despair that’s been hollowing out his chest cavity since Derry, though he thinks, rather pessimistically, that maybe nothing ever occupied that space to begin with.

That wouldn’t be fair to Eddie though. He’s always had a home in the space between Richie’s ribs, whether either of them were ever fully aware of it or not.

He shivers against the ghost of a memory occupying the other side of the bed, the cold air the perfect vessel for the lost love that leaves him there, alone, in the first place

_ It’s your fault he’s not here. _

He blindly slaps the surface of the nightstand for his phone, chest and eyes burning with the sting of tears and the weight of the hotel room in all it’s temporary shelter and false comfort. The phone screen blinds him even on it’s dimmest setting.

3:39 A.M

“Richie? Are you okay honey?” Bev’s smooth alto hums through the phone and cradles tear-damp cheeks with phantom touch, and a distant part of his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve the kindness her voice holds. 

“Come over,” Is all he manages with his trembling voice and shaky breaths, squeezing his eyes shut against the low voice that chants  _ pathetic  _ in his skull with every beat of his weakened heart.

Bev keeps him on the phone on her ride to his hotel, talking far too lightly about her day in a vain but thoughtful attempt to give him something else to think about. He loves her for trying, even though they both know it’s not working.

3:47 A.M

With the most clarity he’s managed in two months, Richie thinks that whoever came up with the five stages of grief must have never been in love. 

4:16 A.M

Bev lets herself in with the spare room key Richie had given her with this exact situation in mind, and wastes no time kicking off her shoes and filling the empty space of the queen sized mattress. 

“We’ve gotta stop seeing each other like this,” She whispers with a sad smile and Richie folds in on himself to rest his head on her chest, closing his eyes against the gentle fingers weaving through his hair. He lets out the skeleton of a wet laugh, silently tapping his fingers on her hip to the steady beat of her heart.

His breathing evens out. His thoughts do not.

4:23 A.M

“I didn’t get to tell him,” He whispers into thinned air, circling back to the same thought that’s occupied every waking moment since he crossed the foremost threshold of the Neibolt house.

Bev sniffs and presses her nose to his hair, pressing him close enough that he thinks for a second he might melt into her.

“He knows, honey,” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “He knows."


End file.
